


The Sleep of Reason

by Sturzkampf



Category: Widdershins (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Inspired by Fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sturzkampf/pseuds/Sturzkampf
Summary: It should have been a simple job. But it almost got Ms Harriet Barber and Mr Sidney Malik killed – or worse.





	1. The Curse of the Horrible Green Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> _Minor spoilers for Sleight of Hand, Vanishing Act, Green Eyed Monster and Find the Lady. This story occurs sometime after ‘ ~~Find the Lady~~ ' 'Vanishing Act’ and before ‘Green-eyed Monster’._

It all started, as usual, with a notice on the ‘Jobs’ board at the Royal Society. Harriet Barber was looking for something straightforward to give her new apprentice Sidney Malik a feel for the business. A routine assignment without any unnecessary complications to walk him through the procedure of selecting a client, finding the loot, checking it in with Frank at the desk and collecting the bounty.

There was also the delicate task of introducing Sid to the other Hunters – and the other Hunters to Sid. When it comes to back-biting, petty rivalries, long-running feuds and a complete inability to co-operate, Hunters are almost as bad as wizards. Maybe it’s something to do with working closely with magic, or perhaps the type of personality that is attracted to both professions tends not to play well with others. The point was that any Hunter needs a considerable amount of resilience, not only to deal with the rigours of what they will encounter in the field, but also to deal with their colleagues. It’s important for any apprentice to face up to these challenges as early as possible, because if they can’t, they’ll probably be happier following a different career path. So far, Sid had shown every sign of enjoying his encounters with two deadly sins, Widdershins’ second-best crime syndicate and Verity Cunningham, so Harriet was confident that he could take anything the job was likely to throw at him.

The other Hunters in the common room were relishing a snide aside, although for once Harry (“who had obviously only been granted her licence because of who her Grandfather was and was probably carrying on with her new toy-boy apprentice; shocking!”) wasn’t the subject. Apparently, Mr Gibbon, a fellow Hunter, had met with misfortune on an assignment and was currently incarcerated in the Widdershins Asylum. His colleagues showed their sympathy and concern by making disparaging remarks on his appalling lack of professionalism and wondering whether the entrance fee to the asylum would be worth the potential entertainment value. Harry didn’t pay much attention. She’d never liked Mr Gibbon; he was far too arrogant. She led Sid past the huddle of _schadenfreude_ to the notice board and scanned the available jobs pinned there. 

“Collection of Rogue Magic Item from Domestic Premises, Ewart Road.” looked like a perfect candidate. As the economy picked up again after the war, there were plenty of the new emerging middle-class looking to impress their friends and show off their new prosperity by purchasing magic items, some practical and useful, some merely decorative and entertaining. And of course, there were plenty of wizards with a variety of skill all too ready to provide for a new and expanding market. Some of the products on sale were superb examples of the wizard-artificers craft. Some, it had to be admitted, weren’t actually all that good. And some were poorly-made menaces to life and limb, produced for the minimal cost to cater for the bottom end of the market. The best thing that could be said about them was they provided a steady stream of work for Hunters like Harry and Sid.

There was one point that drew Harry to that particular job; the pin was amber. All the pins on the board were colour-coded; green for safe, red for high risk and amber for somewhere in between. Not even the staff at the Royal Society were quite sure how it worked. The pin heads were always white when they pinned up the jobs, but they changed colour in the first few minutes they were placed on the board, as though the board itself knew and decided. Harry remembered how her Grandfather had told her how he had once selected a red pin job on impulse just to impress the other Hunters, but when he looked at the card, the job had seemed innocuous enough; track down a missing necklace. His natural assumption was that the board colour-coding didn’t work. As it turned out, the job had involved a close encounter with all seven deadly sins and his future wife – Harry’s grandmother – so it was pretty accurate after all. One day, she really should sit down with him and hear the full story.

So, an amber warning to pick up a malformed magic item? Perhaps not exactly the simple job she had intended to show Sid the ropes, but, like her grandfather, she could never resist a challenge. She decided she’d take her dog Gren along too, if only to encourage her to work with Sid.

As usual, they walked across town to the job, rather than hiring a Hackney carriage. The Hunting profession can often be precarious, so Harry liked to save money wherever possible. The added benefits were that it helped Sid get some level of fitness and gave her a chance to talk him through the procedure.

“What we’re looking for is some kind of imbued item that isn’t working properly,” she explained. “We identify it, bring it back to Frank at the Royal Society and collect the bounty. The last part is the easy bit. Finding it in the first place can be difficult.”

“And how _do_ we find it?” asked Sid.

“Sometimes it’s easy, like the time I found a fur pelisse imbued with Protection fighting the family Jack Russell. Other times, we might have to be a bit cleverer, especially if there’s a lot of stuff there and it’s not obvious which one is the problem. That’s where observation and deduction can come in handy; which of the spirits would be likely to cause the problem. Gren helps – she can often sniff things out. And that’s where I’m hoping you can come in handy. With your wizard skills, you should be able to tell where the problem is.”

“Of course,” said Sid, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “I’m always ready to help Gren.” He gave the dog a friendly grin. Gren stared back, as if to say, ‘If you take my job, I’m going to tear your trousers to ribbons’. Sid decided it was time to change the subject.

“By the way, I’ve had a letter from Tim. You remember…?”

“The Mystical Chung Soo! How could I forget? Show business treating him well?”

“Terrific! He’s booked to do a tour of China!”

“Sounds a good place for a mysterious Chinese wizard.”

“Gosh no, that wouldn’t do at all. Where’s the mystery in being a Chinese wizard in China? No, a key part of his show is that he is a mighty sorcerer with strange and mysterious powers from somewhere exotic and very far away. For this tour, he’ll be the Mystical Iolo Morganwg, the Last Druid of Pontypridd, with his lovely assistant, Gwendoline, the Flower of the Rhymney Valley!”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yes,” Sid struck a theatrical pose and adopted a not-entirely-successful imitation of a theatre announcer. “’Last of a line of ancient mystics who delved deep into forbidden knowledge and wrested the Earth Power from the heart of the Evil Stone Circles of Ancient Briton!’ What a tag line!”

“Hmph. Meddling with that stuff is dangerous. Not to mention illegal. And what, he’s dressing up as a Welshman as part of his act? Isn’t that a bit unprogressive?”

Sid gave her an incredulous look. “Don’t be silly Harry! This is magic! Stage magic! He can dress up however he wants and pretend to have access to all sorts of dark and dangerous powers. It’s all an act! It’s not _real_. It’s exactly the same routine that he performs in Britain, only with different trappings to entertain the crowds.”

“Including the bullet-catch?”

“Especially the bullet-catch! The Chinese will love it!”

Harry remained unconvinced by the cultural appropriation. They turned the corner into Ewart Road, an unremarkable street in a respectable part of town.

“Here’s the street. Reckon that’s our house. Fourth on the right.”

“How do you know… Ah.”

“Ambulance outside the front door is always a giveaway.”

The ambulance pulled away from the pavement. They heard a screaming and banging from inside as it passed. At first Harry assumed it must be someone suffering from some serious injury, but then she saw there were bars on the windows, heavy bolts on the doors and her old friend Mr Clinker, her contact at the Asylum, sitting beside the driver. He gave her a friendly smile and a wave as he drove past. That explained the amber pin.

There was a constable guarding the front door, but he let them into the house when Harry showed her Royal Society lapel badge. In the hall a Sergeant was standing outside the parlour door.

“Was that the owners of the house being taken away?” Harry asked her.

“Yes ma’am. Mr and Mrs Overton. Ain’t never seen anything like it. Both o’ ‘em completely off their ‘eads. Clawin’ at each other like a couple o’ animals. Babblin’ sumtin’ ‘bout a rabbit. Well, screamed to tell t’ truth. Sumtin’ in t’ parlour we reckon.”

That made sense. If this was a magic item, that would be the most likely place for it to be.

“Any idea what it is?” she asked.

“No ma’am. Couldn’t see anythin’ obvious in there meself.”

“How long did you search.”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“Hmph.”

Harry opened the door and looked into the room. Although the hall was obviously been disarranged from its normal pristine neatness, the front parlour, where all the ‘best’ was always kept, had been comprehensively wrecked. Pictures were smashed, furniture overturned, there were what looked like claw marks on the wall. Harry looked at the wreckage. The furniture had been for the most part good quality, but old, with significant wear, and none of it matched. There were also a couple of newer pieces, in a more modern style. She deduced that Mr and Mrs Overton were a young couple, probably married for less than a year, slowly replacing the cast-off furniture, which had so kindly been donated to them by well-meaning friends and relatives when they first set up home, with new pieces that they actually liked and wanted.

“Are you sure this was caused by a magic item?” Sid asked, peering over her shoulder. “This looks more like the damage a malform would do.”

“Some kind of buggerup?” said Harry. “Damn, that means the council will come and clear it up – no, wait, I heard that they’ve closed the council offices and the service has been privatised, so now if you want a buggerup removed you’ve got to pay for it. Makes you wonder what we pay our taxes for. They’d better not try and poach my territory or there’s going to be trouble.”

“There’s a new malform removal firm started up on Fisher Street,” said Sid. “They’ve got fancy protective suits and powder-firing muskets and pre-drawn desummoning circles and everything! They sound awesome! We should definitely go to them if we need some help.”

“Hmph. They’ll cost money. If there’s any desummoning to do, I’ll be relying on you to do it. For nothing. Not having a bunch of newcomers cutting into my margins, no matter what fancy equipment they’ve got.”

“We thought it were buggerup at first too,” said the sergeant, “but there’s no sign o’ any magic circles, an’ neither of ‘em were wizards. Far as we can tell, they did all this damage themselves. Never ‘eard of a buggerup sendin’ anyone off their rocker before.”

“Ah, right.” Harry remembered the Asylum ambulance. “Your wizards had a look?”

“Nah, they said it weren’t worth their while. They just called you in. Sooner you take whatever it is away, t’ better.”

“Coming in to help us search?”

“No.”

“Thought not.” Harry wasn’t surprised. Ordinary members of the public, even police officers, were always wary of wizardry, especially when it went wrong. Not that she was complaining; it was why her profession existed in the first place. She turned to her assistants. “Heel!”

“Be right there,” said Sid, in a worried voice.

“Talking to Gren, but you can help search too.” The three of them went into the room, not without a certain amount of trepidation. The sergeant closed the door behind them.

“Find it, Gren,” said Harry. With thoughts of a biscuit reward, Gren began snuffling through the wreckage, wagging her tail. She seemed to be on the trail of something. The tail wagging increased in frequency. Something beneath that overturned disembowelled armchair perhaps. Then the dog gave a little whine and laid her ears back. Suddenly, with a pitiful yelp she turned and leapt behind the cover of the upturned dining table, which lay on its side like a large barricade on the far side of the room. Harry saw a pair of frightened eyes peering over the top.

“What the Hell?”

“Aha,” said Sid uneasily. “Does that mean she’s found it? Whatever it is.”

“No, she’s usually sits there and barks and waits for a doggie treat. Something must have spooked her. Try a reading. Be careful!”

“Right, let’s see.” Sid took a few steps forward towards the wreckage where Gren had been looking and gestured with his hand, just so.

“ _Lectia Phasmia_. Yes! Definitely something there. But it’s a bit odd. I think it might be… AAIIEEE!!” With a shrill scream and an athleticism Harry had never suspected he possessed, Sid leaped over the table and joined Gren behind the barricade. Harry looked over the top in bemusement at the two pairs of frightened and rather sheepish eyes peering back at her.

 “Would one of you like to explain what’s going on?” Sid and Gren exchanged a look. Gren shrugged, as if to say, ‘do you tell her’.

“Sorry Harry,” said Sid. “It’s the magic – the magic from the reading.”

“What is it, some kind of fear summoning?”

“No, it’s… it’s chaos.”

“That’s not an emotion is it? Can you even summon it?”

“You don’t understand. It’s not any kind of spell I’ve ever encountered. It’s a summons of something, but it doesn’t make any sense. It isn’t like any kind of thing that’s rational, not even some kind of malform. It’s more like insanity.”

“A summoning of insanity?”

“No, not any kind of rational insanity.”

“Insanity isn’t rational. That’s the entire point. Isn’t it?”

No, more like scrambled – scrambled something. No coherent thought. Just a horrible jumble, like a mind destroyed by hashish. As though there’s no reason, no understanding at all. I can’t describe it. But it’s horrible. Truly horrible.”

“So where is it?”

“Somewhere inside the stuffing of that armchair. But be careful.”

Harry refilled her pipe, inhaled a good lung-full of healthy strength-giving smoke for moral support and carefully began to investigate the armchair. At first there didn’t seem to be anything that could possibly be causing her assistants such alarm, but then she moved back a lump of shredded horsehair and saw the rabbit. It was made of china, about nine inches high and it was an unattractive shade of green. The ornament was in the modern style and not to Harry’s taste, although to be honest it would be difficult to conceive of a china figurine that she would have liked. It was exactly the sort of thing that a young couple, trying to establish themselves and impress their friends and relatives might chose to decorate their house. It was also exactly the sort of thing that might be imbued for extra kudos; perhaps with cuteness or admiration. From experience, she could feel something trying to affect her perception of the ornament, but she couldn’t quite work out what it was trying to make her feel; the classic signature of a poorly-made or broken magic item. A simple case after all. She reached out her hand to pick it up.

“Watch out Harry!” exclaimed Sid. “Remember what you told me about handling unknown magic!”

Harry scowled in annoyance. Sid was right of course, she had lectured him about being careful around potentially dangerous artefacts, but she was damned if _she_ was going to be lectured to by _him_. She was the experienced Hunter and anyway, it looked safe enough. She picked up the Horrible Green Rabbit…

And… everything in the room changed. Everything that surrounded her was unfamiliar and unrecognisable. There were objects there and creatures, living things, but she understood nothing. The strange white furry crawling thing, the stick-like creature towering over her waving elongated limbs, the objects that cluttered the room, hemming her in… What were they? Where had they come from? What were they going to do to her? They were closing in! To tear her apart! She tried to escape but there was nowhere to run. Where could she run? Was there anywhere safe? She felt a raw, choking sensation in her mouth. The strange threatening object she held in her hand was sending out eldritch tendrils that crawled into her mouth and nose, suffocating her. The terrible occupants of the room loomed over her. She would have to fight her way out! But how? The wave of panic and terror grew like an unstoppable wave inside her head. She knew that her sanity was about to be overwhelmed by the tsunami of dread and she almost welcomed the release. She prepared to throw herself screaming at the horrors surrounding her.

There was a sharp crack and her mind reeled. Something hit her hard in the face. It felt rough on her cheek. She realised it was the carpet. She’d collapsed under the weight of her confusion and had fallen face down on the floor in a most undignified position. She flinched as something warm and wet slithered over her face. There was a smell of fetid breath. She opened her eyes in alarm and found herself looking at a mouth full of teeth.

Gren, with a worried expression, was licking her face. Two large black objects close to her head resolved themselves into Sid’s shiny shoes. Both her assistants were leaning over her with concerned expressions on their faces. Harry climbed unsteadily to her feet, but staggered and would have collapsed again if Sid hadn’t caught her. She clung on to him to stop herself falling.

For the first time since she was eight years old, Harry felt frightened. All her self-confidence, her self-reliance, her resolution, had been removed in an instant by the Horrible Green Rabbit. She felt lonely and afraid in a hostile world. She was aware of Sid’s body next to hers. The warmth of his body, the beating of his heart (rather faster than propriety dictated), his strong comforting arms around her waist. She wanted to stay safe in his embrace forever, for him to never let her go. Her mind in turmoil, she tightened her arms around his body and looked up into his eyes.

“Sid. Oh Sid I… I… ulp… ‘cuse me…”

It might have developed into an embarrassing tender moment, but fortunately for everyone Harry was overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. She broke free from Sid’s arms, rushed into the corner of the room and was spectacularly sick. Sid and Gren hovered behind her, making useless sympathetic supportive noises. Sid reflected that it was obvious that Harry had never had the benefit of a University education. If there was one thing his time as an undergraduate had taught him, it was that when you needed to be sick, always make it outside to the lavatory if at all possible, or if there isn’t time, at least try for the wastepaper basket; it makes cleaning up afterwards so much easier.

Once she had disposed of her lunch, Harry felt much better. Sid rescued a dining chair that was still more or less intact from the wreckage so she could sit down and compose herself. She took out her tobacco and after two pipe’s worth of mind-strengthening Best Virginian she was her old confident and composed self again. She was too embarrassed by her weakness to make eye contact with Sid. Gren sniffed the air but decided not to investigate the interesting pile of vomit in the corner. It was a shame to let good food go to waste, but it would have been unprofessional to help herself without being invited.

“Thanks for that Sid,” Harry said at last. “That was very unpleasant. How did you break the enchantment? Some kind of desummoning spell?”

“Ah, actually Harry it was nothing so clever. I hit it with the poker.” He indicated the shattered remains of the Horrible Green Rabbit on the floor.

“Hmph, that’s going to reduce the bounty, but it can’t be helped. Let’s collect the bits and get out of here. Best not to touch them.”

Sid didn’t need to be told. He emptied the coal scuttle into the cold fireplace and used the fire tongs to put the pieces into it, so he could carry them back to the Royal Society in safety. Harry was still a little unsteady on her feet, but Sid had enough sense not to offer her his arm for support. They left the building with as few explanations as possible; the constables on duty did not ask what had happened in that terrible room. The dangerous artefact had been made safe and removed, and that was all they needed to know.

\-------------------*

“I’m sure I don’t know, Miss ‘arry, really I don’t.” Checking in the rogue artefact with Frank at the Royal Society was not proving as easy as Harry had anticipated. “I mean, for a start it’s broke. And the pendulum don’t show nothin’. And the compass can’t make up its mind one way or t’other.”

Frank was provided with a variety of instruments in his little domain to assess the artefacts the Hunters brought in that weren’t on his ‘wanted’ list; a pendulum with a large crystal set in a shiny metal cage that he swung over the booty; a device like a compass whose needle turned back and forth. What they actually did was a closely guarded secret, although several of the Hunters suspected that they didn’t do anything at all. They were just props that Frank used as an excuse to do them out of their rightful bounty. Harry was starting to come around to this point of view.

“I’m telling you, when I picked that rabbit up I felt completely… completely… awful.” She frowned and drew on her pipe, aware that she wasn’t communicating exactly how awful it had been. “That has to be a Grade 1.” Frank looked sceptical. He’d had exactly the same arguments with her grandfather on many occasions. He picked up one of the larger fragments and turned it over in his hand.

“Awful, wot?” He raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“It was amazing,” chimed in Sid. “Harry picked up the rabbit and then her eyes went all cross-eyed and she started staggering around and making all these little cute whimpering noises and then I picked up the poker and broke the rabbit and then Harry went all…”

He heard a low, angry growling. He could not be sure if it was coming from Harry or Gren, but either way he took the hint and stopped talking.

“But look, the compass ‘ere don’t pick anything up much.” Frank indicated the small device in his hand, even though Harry and Sid couldn’t see what the needle indicated.

“Now i’s saying desire, now despair, now delight, now destruction, but i’s such a weak signal, i’s hardly there at all. ‘onestly are y’ sure that it were even imbued? This is more like some ol’ thing that’s picked up a lot o’ random emotions over the years, wot.” It was a well-established fact that inanimate objects could be slightly imbued with emotions expressed in their vicinity even without a formal incantation, if the emotions were strong enough, or if they were exposed over a long period of time. It accounted for many phenomena that uneducated people thought of as ‘ghosts’ or ‘haunting’.

“Oh that can’t be right,” chimed in Sid. “You can see that it’s brand new.”

“That’s what I thought,” replied Frank. “Can’t be that then.” Harry kicked her apprentice in the ankle to tell him to shut up. Gren considered giving him a friendly nip to emphasise the point but decided against it.

“Tell y’ what,” said Frank with his best conciliatory smile, “seein’ as it’s you Miss ‘arry, I’ll do y’ a favour and rate this as a Grade 7. Can’t say fairer than that, wot?”

Harry shot a stream of high-pressure smoke through her nostrils. “Seeing as it’s me? What’s that supposed to mean? You’re going to give me more than you think it’s worth, just because I’m Henry Barber’s granddaughter? When in fact you’re giving me much less than you should because you won’t take my word for it? Keep your money. That was a Grade 1 menace to life and limb. Pay me what I’m due or nothing.”

“Ah… aha…, righto then…” Although Frank was safe in his little office behind the armoured glass, he’d pushed his chair back from the window as far as he could. “Sorry, Miss ‘arry, but regulations say that’s as ‘igh as I can go.” He made a mental note to leave by the back door after work, in case Miss ‘arry was waiting for him outside.

“Hmph!”

“Er… do you want your pieces of rabbit back?” Frank asked, and then realised he was talking to Harry’s retreating back. He took that as an answer and swept the rubbish into the wastepaper basket.

“Sorry about that,” said Sid. “She’s having a bit of a difficult day, with one thing and another.”

“Don’t worry,” said Frank, “there’re all like that. That’ll be you when you get your licence, wot?”

Sid ran to catch up with Harry and Gren. He found them both in the Common Room, sitting on their own at table, shrouded in a cloud of thick smoke. Harry’s tobacco consumption always increased when she was angry. Sid took a final lungful of relatively fresh air and sat down at the table amid the smog.

“’As it’s you”’,” grumbled Harry. “’As it’s you!’ Damned if I’m going to be patronised by Old Frank!”

“But we could at least have had the bounty for a Grade 7,” Sid pointed out. “You’re always telling me that we’re in this for the money, so even a little income would be…” Harry glared at him and blew more smoke out through her nostrils. Gren took cover beneath the table and whimpered.

“Haha… but in this case that wouldn’t be appropriate at all,” added Sid hurriedly. He wisely kept his mouth shut for once until the tobacco had a chance to calm Harry down. At least her wrath and pride had driven away any lingering feelings of insecurity.

“How could that have possibly worked?” she grumbled. “That thing was enough to send people insane. Even after it was broken, it should still have been imbued. But Frank was handling it as though it was completely harmless. And his toys hardly registered any imbuing.”

“I honestly have no idea Harry. But that wasn’t like any imbuing I’ve ever encountered before. Maybe that’s why it hasn’t persisted. Perhaps if we could find out where it came from, we could see how it was made.”

“Hmph, might be worth seeing if we can find a receipt back there, but if this some amateur wizard trying to make magic items, the address is likely to be false anyway.”

“It might be worth a try though, although… oh!” Sid suddenly looked surprised and puzzled. He reached into his coat pocket and slowly brought out a piece of broken porcelain. “I’m afraid my unfortunate condition is still here.”

“That’s odd,” said Harry. “Usually you get something valuable. Or at least something useful. Or at the very least, something shiny.”

Sid examined the object.

“I think this is the base of the Horrible Green Rabbit. From Frank’s wastepaper basket.” He turned it over. “Oh look!” There was a paper tag pasted to the bottom of the porcelain.

Moudling Radical Art Installations Ltd, Unthank Road, Widdershins.

“Moudling. I’ve heard his name before,” said Sid.

“Simon Moudling. Research Fellow at the University,” Harry told him. “Got thrown out last year. Academic differences with the Faculty or something. Never did find out the details.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. There was quite a fuss about it, but the details were all hushed up.”

“Standard practice at the University.”

“Think this is worth following up?”

“Definitely. Looks like your condition has stolen something useful for you after all. If this Moudling has any more of those Horrible Green Rabbits, we can bring one back intact this time. Let’s see Frank try and tell me it isn’t a Grade 1 once he’s handled one himself!”

Gren, still hiding under the table, laid her ears flat against her head. There were times when the alpha female could be a little vindictive.

\---------------------*

“Are we sure this is the right address?” asked Harry. She paused halfway up the steep hill to allow Sid to catch up and get his breath back.

“It. Puff. Definitely. Puff. Said. Puff. ‘Unthank Road’, said Sid, gasping for breath between words. They were in the most exclusive district of Widdershins. The further up Pittington Hill you go the better the view, the larger the houses and the greater the distance between them. Unthank Road was the main road that led up to the top of the hill and was one of the most expensive streets in the town.

“Only, this isn’t usually the area you’d expect to find a workshop. Or even a minor academic. You’d need to be a head of department at the least to afford to live here.” Indeed, the only buildings apart from the houses were occasional expensive shops and over-priced restaurants, catering exclusively for the local clientele. Harry had lived all her life in Widdershins and she’d never been in any of them, although the names of one or two were familiar from her conversations with her sister Florrie.

“So, ready for the next stage of the ascent?” Harry strode off up the hill without waiting for an answer. Her apprentice would have to get much fitter if he was ever going to get a licence. Fortunately, there wasn’t too far to go. They reached the gates of a substantial stone-built villa, set in its own grounds, standing back from the road. There was a fine view across the town in its the valley, with the grey hills of the Pennines, shrouded in the inevitable rain clouds, in the distance. Sid paused at the gate. There was a brass plaque on the post:

“Augustus Moudling,” he read, and frowned. “I thought his name was Simon?”

“Plate’s been here a long time. Look at that lichen. Probably this chap’s father. Explains the money. He probably inherited it. Let’s see.” Harry swung open the gate, but Sid hung back uncertainly.

 “Harry, are we allowed to just walk in without a warrant?”

“We’re Hunters, in pursuit of a dangerous artefact.”

“That wasn’t a ‘yes’, was it?”

“No, but if this wizard is making magic items dangerous enough to put innocent people in the asylum, we’ll see how any complaints of trespass hold up in court!”

“But what happens if it turns out we’ve made a terrible mistake and he’s completely innocent? Or this address has nothing to do with the Horrible Green Rabbit after all?”

“Hmph! Grandad always says that if you never end up in front of the magistrate you’re not trying hard enough. Never sure if he’s talking about being a Hunter or life in general.”

“Oh!” The words of advice from his boyhood hero didn’t comfort Sid. He still hadn’t worked up the courage to tell his mother he’d been thrown out of University. Explaining that he’d been summoned for breaking and entering was only going to make things more difficult.

“Here’s how we’ll play it,” continued Harry. “Don’t want to spook this Moudling fellow by telling him we’re Hunters. You can take the lead. Tell him you’re a wizard interested in his work.”

“Me?”

“Be good practise. Me and Gren’ll be here to back you up.” She gave Sid an encouraging smile. “Show him your wizard’s licence. Let him know you’re one of the boys.”

“But… it’s a year out of date!”

“No-one ever looks that closely. And if you put your thumb here, then it’ll hide the expiry date anyway.”

“Ah, righto then,” said Sid. Against his better judgement he knocked on the door and waited. He was just hoping that there was no-one at home, so they could all go back to Falloakes Street and a nice cup of tea, when the door was opened by a short overweight man dressed in an artist’s smock and beret. He didn’t look pleased to see his visitors.

“Ah… Mr Moudling?” asked Sid uncertainly. In a house this size he would have expected a maid to have answered the door, or perhaps even a butler.

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“Ah… Sidney Malik. I’m a wizard.” Sid waved his licence in front of Mr Moudling’s face. The man barely glanced at it. “I’ve …er… seen some of your work,” Sid continued. “It looks absolutely fascinating. I simply had to find out more about it. I don’t suppose you could spare us half and hour?”

“A wizard interested in my work? Really? Of course I’d be delighted to show you my work. Please come in. You can bring your assistants too.” Sid was pleased how successful he’d been, but Harry noticed the look of shrewd calculation that crossed Mr Moudling’s face as he stepped aside to let them in.

“I understand you’re making imbued porcelain figures,” Sid said. “I must say that’s a marvellous idea.”

“You think so?” asked Mr Moudling, in a condescending tone of voice that implied he did not.

“Oh yes! Using magic for useful purposes, enhancing people’s lives and most important, getting magic into everyday living. After all the, ah, unfortunate accidents we’ve had here recently, I’m worried that magic might start to get a bad name with the general public and then we’d have more people like that awful Fairbairn woman trying to get it banned.”

“That woman should never have been allowed to run for office. The mundane world has no right to tell wizards what they can and cannot do. And those fools at the University are as bad.”

“I understand you had some trouble..?”

“Bah that damnable ethics committee! I tell you Mr Malik, wizardry today is in terminal decline. All the focus, all the funding, goes to these new practical applications. Making the railways run faster! Stopping steel rusting! Making steam engines more powerful! Wizards have forgotten that the Ancient Art of wizardry is just that! Art! The expression of hopes and dreams! Not some dreary science of efficiency and utility.”

“That’s exactly why I find your work with porcelain bunnies so fascinating!” exclaimed Sid. “The creation of cute works of art that can go into every home. To make life better for everyone.”

“Why don’t we start with my studio?” Mr Moudling suggested. You’ll soon see what my Art is all about!” He led them through the hallway towards the large spiral staircase that dominated the hallway. 

Harry noticed the scowl on Mr Moudling’s face and the edge in his voice. Clearly, the mass production of cute porcelain figurines for the masses was not what he had in mind when he talked of Art. While Sid chattered, she took the opportunity to examine Mr Moudling. His artist’s smock and beret, rather than the usual wizards’ robes, confirmed that the man saw himself as an artist, rather than an academic. But the smock and beret, worn to protect clothes and hair against clay, paint and turpentine, were remarkably pristine for someone engaged in actual painting or pottery. His attitude, his body language and speech told her that this was a man who regarded himself as the cleverest man in the room and despised anyone who he considered his inferior. He clearly considered Sid and Harry his inferiors. She decided the man was the type to automatically reject accepted thinking, but to accept without question any idea that went against received wisdom. No doubt the man believed that Christopher Marlowe’s plays were really written by an obscure wool merchant from the Midlands, or that the City of Jerusalem described in the ancient texts was actually Edinburgh.

“What’s that sound?” asked Sid, pausing on the first landing. From somewhere deep in the house they could hear a faint thumping sound. And possibly also a faint scream. But perhaps it was just pigeons in the roof. Mr Moudling shrugged.

“That would be the domestics. Nothing to worry about. They’ve all been taken ill. Most inconvenient, but one has to make do and fend for oneself on occasion.” He led them up the stairs and through a set of large double doors at the top of the house.

“And here we are.” It was a small room, lined with shelves on which sat a warren of Horrible Green Rabbits. Sid gasped. Gren whined and laid her ears flat on her head. Harry clenched her teeth on the stem of her pipe, but otherwise showed no outward sign of her trepidation. Under the shelves were lots of small wooden packing crates filled with straw, each ready to send a Horrible Green Rabbit to a prospective customer.

“Did you make all these Horr… I mean, all these porcelain rabbits?” Sid asked nervously.

“These? Oh, there’s an old biddy over in the suburbs makes them, Miss Palstave. She thinks she’s doing wonderful things and she’s so gratified that someone is actually interested in her work. You know the sort; bourgeois background, had a sweetheart who never came back from the war; never married; lives a life of soft, comfortable respectability; likes cats; pretentions of creativity but doesn’t have an artistic bone in her body; lives her entire life trying to help others and not be a nuisance. Utterly contemptible. But the fool has her uses.”

“Oh right,” said Sid, who thought Miss Palstave sounded quite a pleasant lady. “And what do you imbue them with?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Why yes, that’s why I asked.” Simon Moudling gave Sid a strange look, wondering if he was being mocked. Sid gave him his best goofy grin in return.

“I have something here that will make everything clear.” He walked across the room and took something from the drawer of a cupboard. When he turned he was holding an intricate spherical mechanism. Harry and Sid didn’t need to read the engraved lettering ‘Cunningham Enterprises’ to know what it was. Mr Moudling dropped his affable mask.

“Fools! Did you think I didn’t realise you were sent by the University to steal my secrets?! Only a spy would bother to show his licence to a brother wizard!” He clapped a mask over his mouth and nose and pressed a button on the brass sphere. It began to tick ominously.

“It’s a trap!” gasped Sid. Mr Moudling tossed the clockwork bomb towards his guests.

‘Amateur,’ thought Harry, who was quite prepared for Mr Moudling’s move. ‘If he’d had any sense, he’d have thrown the bomb _before_ he started to gloat’. She’d had plenty of time to pick up the lid from a packing case and she used it to hit the sphere back the way it had come with a fine straight drive. Gren leaped up, snatched the metal sphere from the air in her jaws, and dropped it at Harry’s feet, grinning all over her face, waiting for her to throw the ball again. Harry made a grab for the bomb, but before she could pick it up, it blasted a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke into her face. She felt her consciousness slipping away and for the second time that day collapsed face first onto the carpet.


	2. The Attack of the Ravening Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ms Barber's difficult day is not getting any better_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this _[Widdershins Fan Art](https://katedrawscomics.tumblr.com/post/181621231887/a-while-ago-you-had-some-very-good-fan-art-of)_

Mrs Sidney Malik had just finished the ironing when her husband came home from work. She rushed to welcome him, with their three adorable children by her side. Once she'd made Sid comfortable in the best armchair with his slippers and a nice cup of tea, she left him to relax while she finished getting the dinner ready. Soon, they were all sitting around the dining table enjoying the delicious meal she'd spent all afternoon preparing. Harriet watched her wonderful family and felt a happy contented glow of domestic respectability.

Harry awoke in a cold sweat. For a moment she scrabbled on the slippery shore of consciousness between waking and sleep, still unsure what was real and what was the echo of her nightmare. She had difficulty moving, she was lying uncomfortably, and something was obstructing her mouth. Her mind cleared. She was tied up and gagged, dumped in a corner, at the mercy of an insane wizard, and probably about to die horribly. She breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t a complacent housewife after all. Although she would never admit it, not even to herself, what had made the dream so disturbing was the feeling of such complete and utter happiness and contentment it had given her.

She struggled fully awake. From her position lying against the wall her view was restricted, but she was obviously in a wizard’s laboratory, with summoning diagrams chalked on the floor, expensive magical inks and parchments for permanent bindings on the workbenches and the full set of the _Majika Britannica_ on a shelf. And yet, there were differences from any laboratory that Harry had seen before. For a start, it was obviously located at the very top of the building, with large skylights providing excellent illumination. Normally, wizards like to be underground in Widdershins to get them as close to the Great Anchor as possible, even though there is some debate as to whether this actually makes any difference. Then, rather than the usual draftsman’s board with the precision nibs and pens used by professional wizards, the circles were being created on easels, more suited to a portrait painter, and the expensive inks, whose purity was so important for the correct operation of any spell, were being mixed together on an artist’s palette and being applied to the parchment with paint brushes. Lastly, and most disturbing, were the magical circles themselves. They weren’t round. Harry had heard that first year students had an entire term’s worth of instruction being taught how to draw perfect circles, but these weren’t even the egg-shaped efforts of an incompetent novice. Some of them were square, some were triangles, and some were random irregular polygons. It was all contrary to everything that Harry knew about practical magic.

At the back of the room she could just make out another of the horrible green rabbits, four times the size of the mantlepiece ornaments she’d seen before. From the strange summoning diagrams painted on its porcelain surface it had clearly just been imbued. That was satisfying – it was going to be worth plenty of bounty money. Once she was free and had Mr Moudling under lock and key of course.  

Harry felt a sudden surge of concern. Where was Gren?! She turned her head as much as she could. From behind a door across the room she could hear a concerned scratching and wuffling. At least her dog was safe. She squirmed to change her position, to get a better view.  In the centre of the room, Sid was tied to chair, listening with every appearance of polite interest to Mr Moudling as he strode up and down in front of him, enjoying the privilege of an advanced rant.

“Fool! My new forms of incantation will push the boundaries of summoning into new vistas of Creative Art!”

“Ah, very nice,” replied Sid. “But, hope you don’t mind me saying, I think you may have made a mistake in some of your circles. That triangular one for instance.”

“You presume to instruct me?! I have an actual factual degree in magical linguistics! The language of magic changes to serve the needs of The Artist! That’s what makes it beautiful! Anyone who wants it frozen in place should examine their true reasons. They can’t stop the tide of Art!"

“But – doesn’t ignoring the syntax and structure of magical language make the results a bit …er… unpredictable?”

“Nonsense! Overly strict magical rules are a form of oppression. You think that my choice of circle construction and incantation syntax is through a lack of knowledge of the rules? Ignoring them opens up subtler ways to convey emotion and tone through summoning that you’ve just failed to understand. Wizards like you are merely presciptivists clinging to their racist and classist rules and syntax. And then you dare to criticise my Master’s thesis on the sociolinguistics of spell composition with a comparison between ages and class! HA!! And they send some minion like you to try and stop me!? Well, I’ll show you!! I’ll show you all!!!”

‘That simplifies it,’ thought Harry from her position on the floor. ‘The man’s a nutter.’ She struggled with her bonds and tried unsuccessfully to join in the conversation through her gag. Mr Moudling noticed that she was awake.

“And this would be your Female Companion? Scraping the barrel a bit aren’t we? Couldn’t you have found someone a bit more decorative? With a much smaller nose. Or at least someone who dresses like a girl. I’ll bet she can’t even scream properly when she sees a monster.”

Sid looked at what he could see of Harry’s expression behind the gag and, for once, was very, very glad that she was tied up. For Mr Moudling’s sake. He thought it wise to change the subject.

“Ah, you’re imbuing those horrible green rabbits with your new …er… original magical syntax aren’t you? And then sending them out to unsuspecting people as ornaments.”

“Time to show the New Art to the little people!”

“But all your infusions – they’re complete …er…,” Sid struggled to think of a polite word “…er… they’re a bit confusing. Enough to make anyone who picks one up lose all touch with reality.”

“Exactly. They give their owners a completely new, original and unprejudiced outlook, free from all their preconceived ideas!”

“I’m sure that’s very nice. But – what about the damage they cause? It does rather send people insane.”

“Pah! Insanity is a mere construct of a repressive society, designed to stifle original thought!”

“Is that what happened to your servants? Did you er… try your art out on them first?”

Mr Moudling shrugged. “Why not? It’s easy enough to replace them.”

“What, the horrible green rabbits?”

“No, the servants.”

“Ah... But… I’ve seen what one of your creations have done. You’ve destroyed the home of a hardworking couple. Everything they’ve worked hard to build. And it’s put them both into the Asylum. And I think you’ve put a Hunter in there too.”

“Good. It will teach them not to base their lives around material possessions.”

“It wasn’t just that. You’ve taken away their security, their happiness, their peace of mind.”

“What can be better? My Art specifically targets the bourgeoise. The dreadful people crawling over each other like rats to rise above their station, driving the oppressive engines of industry and capitalism. Such people living in their little cocoons of respectability deserve nothing better. How can anyone feel anything but contempt for those who waste their lives working away for the common good? Perhaps now this will shake them out of their complacency, and they will actually become awakened! Not worrying about their duty or responsibility but living for the day! For themselves! Truly, my creations are brilliant works of Art!”

“You call that art?”

“No! I call it Art! With a capital A! Creativity that satisfies and affirms your world view is mere entertainment. Only creativity that challenges and disrupts your world view is Art. I’ve already sold my first few pieces and I’ve completed many more, all ready to be shipped out to purchasers who will get exactly what they deserve!”

“Oh, you’re doing this for money?”

“Certainly not! True Art does not need the value of capitalism. My inheritance frees me from the need for ghastly new money. My wealth has enabled me to complete my greatest masterpiece. The ultimate Artistic expression of summoning. All I needed to complete it was another wizard! So good of you to visit!”

“Ah, terribly sorry, but I’m not sure I want to help. I’m not very artistic you know.”

“I don’t need your help, you pathetic little man, and I certainly don’t need your permission! All I need is for you to act as a conduit!”

“Oh. A conduit for what?”

“Everything! Nothing! The random urges and fragments that constitute the new spontaneous lexicography of Art that will imbue your body! Combined with your wizardly aura it will transform your physical form into a new and _avant garde_ Artistic Creation!”

“And this will be your new art installation?”

“No, only the first step. The true Art Installation will come when I unleash what you will become on Widdershins to interact with the town and the complacent population in new and original and unpredictable ways!”

“Aren’t I likely to be turned into an insane ravening monster?”

“Exactly! At last you understand!!”

“But the people – the town. And… er… with all this transformation, sorry to object and everything, but I don’t think I’ll actually survive.”

“Your point?” Simon Moudling took up his palette and paint brush and began to draw a summoning circle around Sid’s chair. In fact, it wasn’t so much a circle as an irregular polygon. Despite his predicament and Mr Moudling’s manifesto, Sid couldn’t help wondering how much was bad technique and how much went wrong on purpose.

“But what about the consequences for you?” he asked. “There’s bound to be the police and arrest warrants and lots of difficult questions. They could send you to prison or sentence you to death! They might even take away your wizard’s licence!”

“Believe in something Mr Malik! Even if it means sacrificing _Everything_!!” Mr Moudling completed his irregular polygon and sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of Sid.  “Now, are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin.” He started his incantation. To Sid’s ears, it sounded wrong. There was no proper phrasing and many of the words were mispronounced or shortened. It was though someone was writing English with complete contempt of the rules of grammar and punctuation, so that not only the meaning but also the beauty of the language was degraded and destroyed. Nevertheless, the walls of a magic portal began to form from the summoning irregular polygon. Rather than the shimmering vertical lines of regular summoning, they resembled flickering tangled tubes of sickly yellow light crawling over each other like worms, with random globules of bright clashing colours between them.

“I call it ‘Shimmering Substance’,” explained Mr Moudling, breaking off from his incantation. “I like to think it resembles dappled sunlight on a summer’s day.”  It reminded Sid of decaying tasteless wallpaper, or possibly a colourful but unpleasant skin disease, but he decided it would be rude to criticise. Mr Moudling resumed his chanting. Sid watched with increasing interest.

“My word, this is absolutely enthralling,” he said. “It’s always fascinating how if you get an incantation a little wrong, the spirit pulled out of the _Spiritus Mundi_ turns into a malform, but here you aren’t even trying to get the incantation right but just using a whole lot of random words and diagrams and stuff but somehow the _Limina Custos_ is still able to understand you enough to pull haphazard things out of the _Spiritus Mundi_ but of course they’re all fragments like you’d get if you tried to pull a sock through too small a hole with sharp edges, so all you get are the shredded rags instead of the whole sock and your summoning is this terrible gibberish and when you imbue it into an item and someone picks it up it invades their mind and nothing makes the least bit of sense anymore and…”

Mr Moudling, who had been struggling to get through his incantation against the Sid’s enthusiastic gabble, stopped in exasperation and glared at his conduit.

“I have ways of making you stop talking,” he snarled in fury. Sid looked apologetic. Mr Moudling cleared his throat and resumed his chanting.

“Gosh sorry,” continued Sid. “I didn’t mean to rude there but you know that in a normal incantation such an interruption would have ruined the spell and resulted in a collapse into a malform but in this case of course there isn’t anything actually coherent you are weaving together only a bunch of random fragments that don’t have any relation to each other and will never form anything solid or even semi-solid so it keeps swimming around in all those pretty splodges until you’ve got enough of them to infuse me but you know without the correct binding I can’t see how the incantation is going to hold together for very long because it will be like poorly tied shoelaces and as soon as you pull the ends or walk up and down it comes undone and then you tread on it and fall over and gosh that must be why the horrible green rabbit that we recovered didn’t retain any imbuing after I broke it with the poker because it wasn’t properly bound up so it all came unravelled like very bad knitting but at least that means the effects on Mr and Mrs Overton and Mr Gibbon shouldn’t be permanent and with a bit of treatment at the asylum they should soon be fine and…”

Mr Moudling broke off his chanting again, a look of pure hatred on his face.

“BE QUIET!!”

“Aha, sorry. Er… you expect me to stop talking?”

“NO, MR MALIK! I EXPECT YOU TO _DIE!!_ ”

Although he’d stopped the chant, the ominous blobs of unpleasant colours continued to swirl around the magic irregular polygon, but now they swelled and began to close in on the occupants. A normal incantation must run its course, or it will collapse into a malform, but when the incantation has no structure, no syntax, no called spirit and no offering, then it doesn’t matter what you do, because the result is always going to be the same. The sickly yellow streamers of the walls dissolved, leaving the solid lumps of colour hanging in space.

“But… but if the er… Art affects wizards, surely it will get you too?” asked Sid, looking nervously at the coloured globules slowly crawling through the air towards them like enormous animalcules.

“Fool! I have created a magical pendant imbued with forbiddance and denial to protect me!”

“Ah, oh dear.” Sid reached into his coat pocket.

“Ha! ‘Oh dear’ indeed you ridiculous little… just a moment! You were tied up!”

“Aha sorry, magic you know. Stage magic. Escapology. Anyway, this magic pendant protection thingy. It wouldn’t happen to be this by any chance?” With an apologetic grin Sid removed a large metal disk covered with properly constructed magic circles and runes from his pocket.

“Wha…! how did you…?!!  NOOOO!!!”

“Sorry about that. Perhaps if you were to… oh my…”

The globules flowed around Sid like water around a stone in a stream and converged on Mr Moudling. Where they touched him they merged with his body causing it to distort and extend. Extra arms and legs emerged from inappropriate places. There were even a couple of extra heads, the features morphing until all resemblance to a human being were lost. With each new globule, the body grew in size until it towered over Sid, its heads brushing the ceiling. The whole conglomeration collapsed into an uncoordinated mess across the floor, knocking over easels and workbenches, scattering expensive inks and parchment.

Sid left the magic irregular polygon as fast as he could and went to free Harry. He was going to take her gag off first, but she turned her back and nodded at her bound hands in a meaningful manner. Of course! Sid freed her hands first, so then she could take off her gag while Sid undid the ropes around her feet, saving precious seconds. Sid had spent many happy hours undoing knots with his hands behind his back, so he had no problem with Mr Moudling’s amateurish grannies. They were not a moment to soon. The writhing mass of summoned gibberish that had been the late Simon Moudling was already starting to pull itself together and clearly not benefiting at all from its lack of preconceptions. Several different heads screamed in anguish.  A mouth and a claw loomed towards Harry and Sid. The hunters reacted instinctively. Harry took her good flintlock pistol from her belt and aimed it at the Monster. Sid took a pack of playing cards from his pocket and with a skilled flick of his wrist sent them all spraying into the monster’s nearest face. Unfortunately, his attack has an area effect, and several of the cards sprayed into Harry’s face too. Her shot went wide and smashed the huge horrible green rabbit at the back of the room. So much for the bounty from that. Sid’s playing cards, on the other hand, merely made the monster angry. They didn’t help Harry’s temper either.

“I hate that trick,” she informed Sid, not for the first time.

“Ah, sorry about that Harry,” Sid lied, with a grin. “What should we do now?” The monster roared again and loomed over them.

“I think…”

“Run?”

“Run!”

Sid ran. When Harry used an exclamation mark, he knew that things were getting serious.

Harry kicked open the door of the studio. Beyond was the room containing all the horrible green rabbits. Harry was delighted to find Gren waiting for her. Sid was equally delighted to see his shiny top hat. Both were unharmed. Sid was trying to barricade the door when it was smashed into fragments by a claw of such bizarre construction that it would have made a comparative anatomist give up the subject and turn to drink. Harry grabbed Sid’s collar and pulled him out of the way a second before he was skewered. It was time to leave.  All three of them ran out onto the landing and down the stairs. The monster followed, somewhat impeded by its bulk until it realised that it didn’t need to go through doorways when it was easier to knock down the walls. From above, they heard the breaking of a large amount of porcelain. Sid was relieved that the curse of the horrible green rabbits had been lifted forever. Harry harrumphed in annoyance; they wouldn’t be getting any bounty from there either.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, clattered along the hall and out into the street. Being a well-brought up young man, Sid waited until he had left the house before he put his hat back on. With a crash the front of the house exploded outwards in a cloud of masonry and the monster lurched out through the gap, pausing to emit an unnecessary insane scream. The three hunters turned and ran down the hill towards the town. Dusk was already falling and the new magical streetlights of Widdershins were starting to kindle, but they didn’t have time to admire the glittering view of Widdershins spread out below them.

It’s an old joke that you don’t have to be able to outrun a ravening monster in order to escape, you just have to be able to run faster your companions, but Harry wasn’t about to leave Gren or Sid behind. Her apprentice had struggled trying to walk up the hill. Running downhill, he was puffing and panting, shedding various playing cards he invariably kept concealed about his person in case he was called on to demonstrate his sleight of hand. Having to use one hand to keep his hat on his head wasn’t helping. At least Gren had no trouble keeping up, even though, with four legs, she found it difficult to run down a slope.

Out of the corner of her eye, Harry could see the shadow of the monster on the houses behind them, and it was gaining on them. This did not look good. Then she heard a crash and a rending sound. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the monster had broken off its pursuit to attack one of the shops along Unthank Road – The Emperor Jinping Chinese Restaurant. Staff and early customers were pouring out into the street, screaming. The monster seemed more interested in trying to eat the building than the people, presumably because it was still trying to work out what actually constituted food.

The hunters stopped to watch. At least it gave them enough time for Harry to light her pipe, Sid to get his breath back and Gren to investigate an interesting lamppost.

“Why has it stopped?” asked Harry.

“Perhaps it was hungry,” suggested Sid.

“But why there? Why not any of the other buildings?”

“I think… I think the monster must still have Mr Moudling’s…er…”

“Prejudices.”

“Er… world view. A modern restaurant serving fashionable fusion cuisine is exactly the sort of thing that would annoy him. It’s the kind of place people with new money would frequent, where of course a proper gentleman would have servants to prepare his food at home, or he would dine at a Gentleman’s Club away from all the ghastly common people. Like us.”

“Gives us a breathing space. Can we kill it? Flintlock won’t slow it down.”

She began to advance cautiously back up the hill. Sid and Gren followed, somewhat less enthusiastically. Food from the wrecked kitchen was spilling down the hill. Sid tried to tiptoe through the noodles, worried the grease might spoil his shiny shoes.

“Hurry up,” said Harry impatiently. “Down these chow mein streets a man must walk.”

“Perhaps once it’s eaten all that it won’t be hungry anymore.”

“Doubt it. Always get hungry again after you’ve eaten a Chinese. Can you desummon it?”

“I think so. From what I’ve seen there’s hardly anything holding it together. Just a little push and a pull in the right direction and the whole thing should unravel.”

“What about Moudling? Will he be able to survive?”

Sid looked at the writhing mass of insane protoplasm ripping the restaurant apart. “To be honest, it’s probably best if he doesn’t.”

“Can you do it?”

“I think so, but I’ll need to draw…”

“Get on with it! It’s almost finished eating.”

Sid got on with it. Fortunately, he always carried plenty of chalk. He was going to need a big circle, a little further up the hill so the lines wouldn’t be spoiled by all that food. Harry walked towards the monster, shouting and waving her hands to attract its attention. It ignored her. Already, it was looking down the hill to the rest of the town spread out below it, considering how to interact with it in new and original and unpredictable ways. She tried picking up some pieces of rubble and throwing them at the monster. It pushed over a final wall and stepped out into the street, its original quarry quite forgotten. Gren tried biting one of its ankles. It didn’t notice.

“Finished!” called Sid. “But Harry, we have to lure it into the circle. How can we get its attention?” The monster was already starting to move off down Unthank Road, away from Sid’s circle. He wondered if he should run past it and try drawing another desummoning circle further down the hill. The prospect did not appeal.

“Can think of only one way,” said Harry, grim determination in her voice. She stepped towards the monster, then was struck by a sudden thought. She turned back and scowled at Gren and Sid.

“Say one word to _anyone_ about this, then you will both be on the street, scavenging your food out of dustbins. Understand?” Gren and Sid looked at the expression on her face and then exchanged a glance in which they both took a solemn vow never to tell a living soul about whatever their boss was about to do. Then they looked back at Harry and nodded.

“Right.” Harry stepped out into the street, put her hands to her face, took a deep breath and screamed her head off, in the best tradition of Female Companions in Scientific Romances throughout the multiverse. The monster turned and looked at her. Several of its slack and ill-formed jaws flexed and slavered unpleasantly. The expressions on the distorted faces twisted into a mixture of jumbled emotions, none of which spoke well for Harry’s immediate future. In the confusion of its insane thoughts, the monster was compelled to chase the screaming Female Companion, because that is what monsters do. Its feet (they had to be feet, Harry told herself, they were on the end of its legs) shuffled towards her, the unstable bulk following, back up the hill towards Sid and his circle. Still screaming Harry edged backwards. She was finding pretending to scream in fear much easier than she had anticipated. It took all her self-control to avoid running away in panic.

She stepped over the chalk marks into the circle. Sid began to intone the magic words and the walls of the circle flared into life with a sickly purple glow. The rational observing part of Harry’s brain unhelpfully reminded her that the success of the plan, particularly the part where she did not die horribly, depended on a wizard who had never actually graduated getting a desummoning spell right. Fortunately for everyone, the desummoning spell held the Monster as soon as it stepped into the circle. It froze and writhed, unable to attack its victims. Indeed, as the tangled and distorted emotions unravelled, it was unlikely that it even knew of their existence. It’s screams sounded disturbingly like hatred, fear, maniacal laughter and heart-broken sobs, all rolled into one.

“It’s working Sid,” exclaimed Harry. “Just a little longer and then…”

The monster sagged as the fragments of summoned emotion diffused back into the _Spiritus Mundi,_ its cries mercifully silenced. The towering mass tottered unsteadily for a moment, like one of Sid’s less successful efforts to build a playing card tower, and then collapsed on top of Harry, a great wave of rancid protoplasm that drenched her in sticky, stinking offal. There was a moment of silence. Very slowly and deliberately Harry cleared the fetid mass from her eyes so she could at least see again.  

Sid and Gren emerged from an alley, both annoyingly clean. At least, thought Harry, Gren wouldn’t need a bath; a highly traumatic procedure for all involved.

“Aha, sorry about that Harry,” said Sid, not looking in the least bit sorry. “Perhaps I should have warned you to take cover. Ah, and to close your mouth. Fascinating that there’s so much more material remaining than composed the original body. It’s a practical demonstration of Mudge’s Principle of … ah.” A glare of cold fury stopped him talking far more effectively than Simon Moudling’s extravagant threats. Harry drew on her pipe to blow smoke through her nostrils, but only got a mouthful of disgusting rancid slime for her trouble. She emptied the bowl and reached for her tobacco pouch, only to find the protoplasm had made its way into her pockets and ruined five shillings worth of best quality Virginian. Gren walked over and sniffed the pile of offal that had been the late Mr Moudling with the appreciation of a true connoisseur, then lay down and started to roll in it. Harry’s scowl ratcheted up another notch.

Sid grinned at her. “Gosh Harry, wasn’t that _fun_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If Ms Barber ever reads this, I may have to flee the country_


End file.
